[center][h2][b]Ophelia[/b][/h2][/center]

When Farren came into sight, Ophelia did not really know how to feel. Tense hope and barely held back fury (though not at Farren, of course) clashed in her mind's eye, but when she saw his face and heard an uncharacteristic choking sob... she knew something was very deeply wrong. Whatever else might have been happening, to see one as often aloof and unfazed as Farren like this meant something portentous and disastrous had happened--something she immediately realised was connected to the tremor she'd felt, that they must have been feeling this entire time. The False Paleblood, it must have been. She barely even registered Farren's words, only snapping back to attention at 'Amaris', the pet name he'd given the doll, and she paid no further attention to him as she moved inward to the workshop as he implored her.

Seeing the doll lying there, inanimate, on the floor broke something inside of her. She whimpered and began to cry once more, falling to her knees, mouth agape and eyes wildly looking about. She daren't even touch the doll, uncertain of how any of this had happened and not wishing to somehow make things worse, and then looked up at the mute and sullen Shopkeeper. Then back down. Then up again. It was [i]him[/i], the Lord of Providence had done this to her somehow. He'd taken another of their friends and allies, someone truly and wholly innocent who only ever tried to help. She screamed and let out all of her sorrow and fury and pain, unable to keep it within herself any longer without falling apart, and fell to her knees. She grasped the Holy Moonlight Sword tightly, knuckles turning white, as she calmed herself down enough to try and reach out to it.

[i]Mother Moon... My Guiding Moonlight... Please, tell me, what has happened here? How can we fix it? Please... please..."[/i] she thought, burying her face into the gleaming blade and closing her eyes. The position looked something oddly like prayer, though she quickly collapsed from being on her knees and simply sat on the floor, holding the blade just barely aloft, waiting. Hoping beyond hope.